


Falling Glass

by Destina



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-01
Updated: 2003-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meditation on loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Horatio Hornblower movie, "Retribution." Originally posted to LJ in 2003.

I. 

In the ship's hold, surrounded by darkness, they can be together from time to time. They cannot touch by lantern light, as the officers and crew alike come down into the bowels of the ship for what they need. No privacy may be found here or in any other corner; no darkness is truly deep enough to hide in, lest they be discovered. Still they persist, and indulge their needs, taking to what they've called their 'Spanish ways', for it was in prison they first learned the freedom of desire. 

Archie crouches across heaped sacks of grain, his face invisible in the dim humid night. He gasps a name, or perhaps a phrase; it is lost forever against the barrier of Horatio's hand. They strain against each other, thrust and parry, deep in and shallow out. Nothing has ever been so dangerous or so true. This they remember, every time they stand together on the quarterdeck of the Renown; they are one. 

A gasp and cry, muffled. Horatio knows the timbre of it, just as he knows the taste of the sweat pooled at the back of Archie's neck, the smell of him in the dark. He believes he might find Archie by scent alone in a crowd of a hundred men. This fallacy persists so truly that he has looked for his lover in the midst of all the men, eyes closed and senses open to the experience. It is not these senses which aid him, but another, something less certain and all the more reliable. They can find each other across decks, through battles and boredom, in the most horrific circumstance. 

His fingers tighten on Archie's hips. He longs to touch more, to see everything, all that he knows so well but has not seen since their release. The full expanse of skin, soft overtop and hard beneath; Archie is so much more than his broad, toothsome smile. They are not permitted any of that now. Only the stolen moments, the spaces between breaths, are theirs. 

Beneath him, Archie twists and bucks, and Horatio bites down at the nape of his neck, not rough enough to draw blood or break skin. In his hand, a hard cock, familiar to his touch; Archie sighs with pleasure, drawing tears of delight from Horatio's eyes. Once more, he thrusts against fabric and tantalizing patches of skin, made complete by all he is offered, all he has been given. 

How far they have come to be here, navigating without compass or star to guide them; how little they understand of this treacherous land. A prize of war, dearly won. 

After, Archie touches his face and whispers, "Right. Back at it, then?" He slips away first, cautious of discovery. Horatio can feel him smiling in the dark. 

 

II.

 

On the deck, eyes forward, heads together. They still smell of gunpowder and seawater, giddy with having accomplished the impossible. They are privileged to know the invincibility of youth and persistence. They lean closer still with their hands behind them, the picture of propriety. The spark of mischief leaps in Archie's eyes, and he whispers, "How would it look, Mr. Hornblower, if I were to tumble you here, on deck? Do you think our commanding officer would approve?"

"I should think it would be quite a show for the men," Horatio answers, the laugh on his lips, but squared away in the sight of the world. 

"And of all crews, these men can surely appreciate a show." Archie licks his lips. "Do you suppose a wager would be in order to inspire your finest efforts?"

"You have seen my finest efforts - indeed, you have felt my finest efforts on your behalf." 

A flick of his eyes, down, and Archie's face splits into a wide, eager grin. "Mr. Kennedy's compliments, sir!" 

They turn their faces, one to the left and one to the right, so they might almost touch as they speak earnestly together. There is a nor'east breeze and the sun is warm and gentle on their skin. This is a memory they will cling to, when storms come. 

 

III. 

 

After the battle, when the adrenaline has rushed through and left him exhausted, Horatio pauses to say a word of thanks for his life. He believes it to be a valuable life, to himself if to no other. There is wisdom in the notion that another believes this also - not his father, whose infinite care of him is expected - but someone else. Someone closer. 

He finds Archie waiting for him, as spent as a man can be. Tonight they will sleep; there will be no opportunities for more. Already the heaviness of tired limbs threatens to overtake him and swims his vision. But he is not so blind as Archie might wish, that he can be spared what comes; the great crimson stain of life bleeding out, or the sweet stench of a wound straight through, saturated with blood. 

It is not his way to panic. Not even as his hands seek life and pulse in Archie's body, nor as he pulls away the cloth to see the wound. He has carried this body before when less of a spark remained inside it; he can carry it easily now. There are echoes, the tapping claws of ghosts at the door, but he holds them at bay. 

In his mind's eye, it is ever as it was in those few days at the prison, the purgatory between rescue and release, when they loved each other to banish fearsome nightmares and close old wounds. It will be that way again; he is sure of it. He presses a warm hand to cold flesh, drawing poison from new wounds. They are trapped together in this moment, near Death, and the sea carries them forward into colder, deeper waters. 

Archie does not speak; his head has come to rest on Horatio's shoulder, and his body stills in Horatio's embrace. 

 

IV. 

 

In a room full of lies, one spark of truth can be brought to light. Horatio looks at his captain - always his, as though there had been no other - for as long as he can bear. Long ago he had sworn he would not cause Pellew this pain, this sense of disappointment, and even now he feels the strength of his captain's belief. This has been the anchor, through all the long days and fearsome lies, the turbulent faith in Pellew's eyes and the currents of disdain in his voice.

But not now. Now, there is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, but a sea of strangers and their high, excited voices, and the chatter of feet on the finished floors. He has no understanding for any of this: not for the defeated countenance of his accuser, nor for his own relief. He can only think to himself, over and over: it is too dear a cost. 

It is as though they are the only two in the room; Archie, radiating pain, strength, courage; Horatio, without a care for what others may believe. He finds he cannot move, cannot speak, cannot do more than stare at the source of his salvation. 

The crowd closes in. Damp wool and crisp-pressed shirts are all around him, and yet he is alone.

 

V. 

 

In the empty space where a friend once was, there are sweat-soaked sheets and bloodstained bandages, a testament to sacrifice. Horatio touches each in turn, and lastly the pillow, where the taste of Archie's breath still favors the coarse linen. In these quiet evening hours, none remain to tend the empty beds, the silent hallways; the last patient has gone. 

There is no particular smell to the place, no hint of antiseptic or stench of putrefaction. For some reason, this eases Horatio's grief and makes it easier to bear. He can still think of the sea-salt taste of laughter, the scent of sunshine soaked into clothes and skin. All these things are the legacy of friendship; these, and the particular bittersweet gift of his career, his reputation, his own good name. 

Horatio will soon take liberty in Portsmouth. It is where they last laughed together, where they drank to the victories ahead, certain no defeat could overtake them. Later, he will go sleepless to his cold bed and place an arm across his eyes. The tears will come quickly, no match for the willpower he brings to bear to repress them. When the tears are dry, he will carry on, for it is as Archie demands: the course ahead is clear; the glass is steady, the seas calm once again.


End file.
